


Poisoned Scones

by Batsutousai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Dark fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: "Who are we killing today?" Voldemort asked from just inside the doorway; Harry might look terrifying covered in flour, but Voldemort didnot.





	Poisoned Scones

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% the fault of the assholes in the Tomarry Discord's writing channel. I hate all of you.  
> (Okay, it's actually probably more like 75%, but who's really counting.)
> 
> You can also read this at [tumblr](http://batshieroglyphics.tumblr.com/post/174992622264), [Dreamwidth](https://batsutousai.dreamwidth.org/393173.html), or [LiveJournal](https://batsutousai.livejournal.com/394640.html).

There was little that could terrify Voldemort more than being told by a house elf that his partner was baking. Because while some people worked off their rage by torturing prisoners or cursing handy minions, his partner baked (usually nonfatal) poison into tempting goodies, then left them out where anyone could eat a couple. Including, on more than one occasion, Hogwarts students.

"Did I forget any important dates?" he asked aloud, even as he summoned the date.

"No, Master Lord No-Name," the house elf who had warned him about the baking said.

Indeed, the day was an insignificant one, surrounded by equally insignificant dates. So, having determined his partner wouldn't throw an _avada_ at him, he made his way to the kitchen.

Harry was indeed baking, a small cloud of flour puffing up around him with each angry kneed of the dough he was in the process of murdering. Or making into an object of murder, based on his expression.

"Who are we killing today?" Voldemort asked from just inside the doorway; Harry might look terrifying covered in flour, but Voldemort did _not_.

" _Albus_ ," Harry snarled as he delivered a particularly vicious punch to the dough.

"Ah." Harry _was_ wearing his teaching robes, which suggested he'd come direct from Hogwarts. (Something about not being able to get away with adding poison to food he made on the grounds, apparently.) It was too late in the day for a staff meeting, and Severus probably would have been the one to warn him to avoid any baked goods if something had happened at a meeting. "How are we killing him? Slow poison, I should hope."

"Slow and _nasty_ ," Harry agreed, shooting Voldemort a sharp, violent smile. "Something lemon-flavoured, I think; should mask the taste."

"Mmm, and he does enjoy his sour treats," Voldemort agreed, watching with some satisfaction as Harry's pounding eased off a bit. "A cake?"

Harry stared down at the dough for a moment, his moments slowing as he debated. "No. I was thinking bread, but I'm not sure the poison would survive the rising and the baking in sufficient quantities to do the job. He'd be more likely to share it, anyway."

Voldemort scoffed, because he couldn't imagine most people would be daft enough to try lemon-flavoured bread. But he was, perhaps, a little bit biased. "Muffins? Scones?" he suggested, having suffered enough of Harry's murderous baking episodes to have a pretty good idea what he would most easily be able to turn bread dough into.

"Scones," Harry decided, and returned to attacking his dough with a vengeance.

Voldemort politely hovered a baking sheet over to him, then watched as Harry divided out the dough into his preferred shapes, and shoved the baking sheet into the cooker.

There were spells to speed up the baking process, but Harry complained they made the food taste weird. Rather than leaving him to stare at the cooker – and potentially get frustrated with the wait and start making something else – Voldemort said, "We got in some new muggles just this morning. One of them is quite round."

Harry turned to look at him, and unholy gleam in his killing curse eyes. "Does he turn purple when he screams?"

"I haven't the faintest. Why don't we go find out?"

As it turned out, the fat muggle did indeed turn a particularly lovely shade of purple when he screamed. And he _did_ scream, because Harry was not just a terrifyingly accomplished baker, but also a rather creative torturer; watching him work was one of Voldemort's favourite pastimes.

"Are you feeling better, now, my equal?" Voldemort murmured once the fat muggle was dead.

Harry stepped in close and reached up to clasp his hands behind Voldemort's neck, a lazy smile twisting his mouth. "Oh, much," he agreed. "You always know exactly how to make me feel better."

"Only because you terrify me," Voldemort admitted. Partially because it was true, and partially because it was the most honest, heartfelt thing he had to say.

Harry's wide, slightly wide smile was made all the more dangerous by the single streak of blood he'd thoughtlessly wiped across his cheek when shoving his hair out of his face at one point. "You really do say the sweetest things to me."

"Everyone deserves to be told they're terrifying."

Harry laughed and leant up to press a hard kiss to Voldemort's mouth. "Oh, I'm fairly certain, of the two of us, you've made more people piss their pants with nothing less than a glare."

...Harry probably had a point, but Voldemort was fairly certain that was only because his partner had a persona as a slightly kooky professor to keep up.

Harry sighed, then, his arms pulling at Voldemort's neck as his shoulders slumped. "You're going to tell me I can't kill Albus."

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Voldemort agreed, because they had a _plan_.

(More accurately, they had a _number_ of plans, most of which had initially been formed by Voldemort, before Harry gave them his own little twist. None of them, unfortunately, allowed for Dumbledore's death to come so soon.)

"I guess we'll have to give those scones to a couple of prisoners, then. I'll make him something else."

"Discomfort, or near-death experience?"

Harry's eyes lit up again. "Ooh, I know the _perfect_ near-death cake recipe! You can help me decorate it!"

Voldemort sighed, just a little, but didn't complain as his partner grabbed his hand and dragged him back up to the kitchen.

If nothing else, at least they'd got some scones that caused a slow and nasty death to test on a few muggles and mudbloods. Harry's baking had yet to disappoint, at least so long as Voldemort wasn't on the receiving end.

.


End file.
